


The Entity Known As Jonathan Sims

by RiceNoodlesAndCrime



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Italics, Jonah Magnus is only mentioned, M/M, Monster! Jon, Oneshot, Spoilers for Season 5, but i might add another follow up chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiceNoodlesAndCrime/pseuds/RiceNoodlesAndCrime
Summary: Jon has been taken over by The Eye's influence. It's up to Martin to find him and bring him back.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 9
Kudos: 158





	The Entity Known As Jonathan Sims

Martin awoke to the feeling of something important being gone. 

Of course, he wasn’t _fully_ asleep. The new world they lived in would never allow anyone to rest and escape this awful reality. No, sleep would distract their doomed tormented subjects. It was unnecessary, now, as Jon kept reminding him.

But Martin did still like the illusion of rest. The motion of setting up a sleeping bag, cuddling up with Jon and resting his eyes- 

_Wait_

“Jon?!” 

Martin shot up in his sleeping bag, eyes darting around. The sky writhed with green storm clouds, swirling around the eyes that poked out and demanded to See and Know. But Martin had gotten used to them a long time ago. 

He stumbled to his feet, looking around their little camp. It was really only the illusion of comfort, this camp. The grey concrete wall his sleeping bag – their sleep bag – sat against wouldn’t stop any monsters. They had often debated making a campfire, and had actually attempted making one this time from fence pickets they’d found in the ruins of the town they were currently traveling through. But in each attempt, it would hungrily burn up anything they fed it way too quickly. The heat from it was never warm or comforting, just ravenous and demanding and always too hot to go near. Plus, it didn’t really get dark or particularly cold. And Martin didn’t want to trade his comfort for Jons (he kept running his fingers over the burn scar on his palm when Martin finally managed to douse the flames.) 

The charred remains of the traitorous fire offered a clue to Jon’s whereabouts, however. He could faintly see a footstep, right in the now-cold coals. The trail of steps continued into the cracked and ruined streets, and Martin picked up their bags and hurried after them. 

“Jon! Jon, where are you?” 

Maybe it was asking for trouble from monsters, screaming like that. But he could feel the worry pooling in his chest as he yelled into the empty streets, feel the icy cold tendrils of fog lapping at him. The thoughts that ran through his head kept repeating things like _he left_ and _abandonment_ and _your fault_. 

But he’d learned not to listen to that voice long ago, and trudged onwards. 

“ _Jon!_ Jon, please!!” 

Then- 

A faint hissing of static. He picked up speed, heaving the bag higher on his shoulder and following the familiar sound. 

“Jon, I’m coming!” 

It occurred to Martin, then, that Jon might’ve run _from_ something. He dug around in his bag quickly, finding an old vegetable knife he’d been getting an unfortunate amount of use from tucked in the pockets. It shook slightly in his hands, and he tightened his grip as he followed the noise into a dark alley. 

The alley had a rusty iron gate the swung easily off its hinges at Martin’s touch, falling onto the ground with a clatter that made him wince. He took out a torch from his pack, the light catching on something black, shiny, and achingly familiar on the floor. 

Martin crouched down, touching the tape recorder almost reverently before picking it up and rewinding it back. 

“ _Statement_ _of Anna_ _Benworth_ _,”_ said Jon’s voice from the recorder, monotone and emotionless, “ _regarding the infestation in her attic-_ " 

He paused it, listening and following another whirring staticky noise until he stumbled upon another recorder. This one exactly the same in looks. 

“ _Statement of Dr. Markus_ _Hemsworth_ _, regarding the deaths of his patients-”_

He clicked that one off too. And immediately after he did, he heard a terrible, earsplitting sound. Like someone trying to scream, cut off through waves of static. Martin clutched his ears and crouched down, trying and failing to escape the rising sound of static himself. 

The static reached a crescendo as something neared, it’s shadow humanlike in the bleak light. Martin fumbled for the knife, clutching both it and the torch close. 

“S - _stay back,_ " he was proud of how his voice didn’t shake. 

The static was flecked with bits of audio error sounds now as the figure in the alley loomed closer. Its hair was matted, blocking out most of its face. But neon green eyes loomed around it, hovering like a swarm of flies. It shambled closer, almost mechanically as tapes materialized around it. They played back that same static tone, amplifying the already almost unbearable noise. 

Its hand reached out, fingertips ending in claws. Martin held the knife out, inching away and glancing back to see if he could run for it as it shambled closer. 

“What - what did you do with Jon?!” he yelled, certain that this static creature had somehow taken him away to – to the panopticon or something. Or maybe it was the stranger, and it was going to pry off Martin’s face with those sharp nails. Or maybe- 

Maybe... 

His grip on the knife loosened. 

“ _Jon_?” 

His voice shook _that_ time. 

It – him? – paused. The hair still covered their face, so he couldn’t get a good look. 

“ _Statement of_ _Martin Blackwood-_ " 

It _was_ Jon. Martin dropped his knife. 

“Jon? Jon! Jon, it’s - it’s you!” 

The figure paused again, outstretched claw curling in on itself before reaching out once more. The static rose. 

“ _Statement of –_ agh – _Martin Blackwood-_ _”_

“Jon, it's _me_.” Martin pleaded, stepping closer over the piles of tape recorders, “I know you’re in there. You have to fight it,”

The eyes were all lazer focused on him, pinning him to the spot like a bug on display. It felt like a physical weight pressing on Martin from every angle. The gazes scratching over him, flaying him and digging out all his secrets and thoughts. As much as he wanted to run to Jon and wrap him in a warm blanket, another, more primal part of him was itching to hide. To run from the scratching hot gaze of those green neon eyes.

He was almost ashamed of this fear. It was _Jon,_ his... Boyfriend. No, that sounded childish. His lover? Too romantic, ugh... The one he beloved.

The one he beloved inched closer, unaware of Martin's inner turmoil. Martin could now make out words in the static. Calm reclalings of horrific tales. Screams of terror. Pleas for mercy, for a reason, for it all to end.

_All stored in The Archive._

Martin immediately rejected the thought, moving closer despite the traitorous pounding of his heart, "Jon, please. I know it's hard, but come back to me. Please."

 _“_ _Regarding_...re-regarding...” 

Jon gasped suddenly. His black hair with premature white streaks covered his face in shadows from the torch. His entire frame shook as the static receded slightly, like the tide drawing in for a big wave. The eyes shut and opened rapidly behind him.

“Ma- _Mar_ -tin,” he gasped out, and Martin’s heart went out to him. Jon curled his outstretched fist close to his chest, hugging himself tightly. 

“There you go,” he encouraged, stepping closer. Martin frowned when Jon stumbled back, holding up a hand for him to stop. 

“Ple - _ease,_ Martin. You ne – need to _leave._ ” he sounded on the verge of tears. This close to him, Martin could see the grime and dust on Jon, along with dark patches of coal on his pant cuffs. How long had he been walking, enthralled by The Beholder, before Martin noticed he was missing? 

“No, Jon,” he said softly, inching closer to Jon. He was now actually _sobbing,_ clutching his heaving chest, pointedly looking away from him. His breaths were heavy and it was more like he was gulping in the air than breathing it and it _made Martin's heart break_. He had to resist from launching himself at Jon immediately but held himself a few feet away. He knew getting Jon out of this funk was the priority right now. 

“ _Please_ , Martin. I'll hurt– I _can't_. ” Jon was backed up against the wall now, sliding down and wrestling with control over himself as Martin approached him. He held his hands up while sitting next to Jon on the dusty floor, talking like he was consoling a stray cat. 

“You can. You can, Jon. Just listen. Listen to me, okay?” Martin took Jon’s clawed hand in his, and Jon returned a death-like grip on Martin’s hand. He didn’t care that it hurt, just smiled, and held on tight. 

“Feel that? That’s an anchor. Don’t lose yourself now Jon,” 

Around them, the recorders turned off. The static stopped completely.

Jon cried out, scrabbling at his eyes with his free hand.

"It _hurts, Martin._ Th - there's too much...and I... _want it._ "

"I know, Jon, I know." He really didn't. Couldn't. "Just hold on, alright?"

And then the tapes snapped back on again with a click from the buttons, playing statements all at the same time. Jon’s voice echoing eerily back at them. He covered his ears and tugged at his hair with his free hand as they played back to him. The eyes blinked faster, moving around like an agitated hive of bees. 

“ _Statement of Dorian Joe, regarding a lost pet-”_

_“Statement of Gregory Montague, regarding what was not his neighbor-”_

_“Statement of Natalia Finch, regarding strange visions of the future-”_

“Jon?” 

_“Statement of Fredrick_ _Larson_ _,_ _regarding his-”_

_“Statement of Rick Austen, regarding-_

_“Statement of Vanessa Brooks-”_

_“_ _Please_ , _stop_ .” 

_“Statement of_ _Michael_ _Turner-”_

_“_ _Statement_ _of-”_

_“Statement of-”_

_“statement of-”_

Jon yelled, his voice hoarse and barely there. It sounded worrying similar to the yell in the static from before. 

The tapes clicked off at once, the static lowering until it was too quiet for human ears to pick up. Most of the eyes winked out of existence, a few hovering behind Jon’s back, peering curiously at Martin. 

The grip was still as tight as ever, but Martin could not give less of a shit. He hugged Jon into his chest, feeling his heaving breaths echo through him as Jon let go of his hand and clutched onto Martin’s back

“You did it, Jon. I’m so proud of you,” Martin wanted to say more, but tears started building up behind his eye and a lump started forming in his throat. So, he just clutched Jon to him in silence and sent another silent ‘fuck you’ to Jonah Magnus: the ceaseless fucking prick in his behind. 

**Author's Note:**

> me just projecting a scene I want to write wih my OC's onto The Magnus Archives
> 
> (PS: I keep editing stuff in my fics. Sorry if you read this and are confused why it's so different than last time. I swear it's author edits and not The Spiral messing with your memory)


End file.
